


Sing We Now of Christmas

by Eienvine



Series: Magnolia Lane [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eienvine/pseuds/Eienvine
Summary: Peggy and Daniel Sousa's first Christmas Eve as a married couple, told in carols.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the same universe as my story "Magnolia Lane," but you don't need to have read it to read this. There is a character mentioned here who originated in that story, but all you need to know is that she's a friend and neighbor.
> 
> This is a fairly plot-less, slice-of-life type of story. Sappiness abounds, along with a bit more bittersweetness than I'd originally intended. Oops! Also, some discussion of Christmas as a religious holiday, because it is, for me, a religious holiday. If that is not your jam, then this story might not be your jam either.

. . . . . .

_December 24, 1949, Sycamore Hills, California_

. . . . . .

_Sing we now of Christmas, Noel sing we here_  
_Hear our grateful praises to the babe so dear_  
_Sing we Noel, the King is born, Noel_  
_Sing we now of Christmas, sing we now Noel_

"Ah," says Peggy, turning to glance at the radio by the bed, "this is what I'm talking about. A good old English carol, sung by a choir."

"Are you sure it's English?" asks Daniel doubtfully. "All those noels . . . sounds French, if you ask me. 'Joyeux Noël,' isn't it?"

She raises her eyebrows, impressed at his pronunciation, and he grins. "I didn't learn much French over there in the war, but I heard that one enough to pick it up."

"Mon mari est intelligent aussi bien que beau," she says, and he stares, then shakes his head.

"Now you've lost me."

Peggy laughs and burrows closer to him, tightening her arm around his chest.

"Do we have to get out of bed?" Daniel sighs. "What's the point of having a day off if we can't spend it relaxing?"

But he doesn't mean it, she knows—he's excited about today, has been for ages. "The point," she says, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw, "is that it's Christmas Eve, and your father is in the guest bedroom, and I don't think he wants to spend his holiday waiting for us to get up."

"Point taken."

The Sousas set about untangling themselves from their blankets and each other, then Peggy goes to wash her face while Daniel sits on the edge of the bed, stretching lazily. "Anyway," he calls out over the sound of the water and the choir still singing noel, "what do you have against American Christmas music? We might not have the choral tradition you do, but Bing Crosby? Frank Sinatra? I mean, Rule Britannia and all that, I love your homeland, but who have you ever produced to match Bing Crosby?"

She considers this while she dries off her face. "Al Bowlly?" she says finally.

"I'll give you Al Bowlly," he concedes. "But he didn't do much Christmas music."

"Fine," she says. "Bing is superb, I agree. But who has America ever produced to match the choir at Westminster Abbey?" Her eyes grow soft, her hands still, her voice thoughtful. "You asked me, the other day, what I miss most about Christmases back in London. That's it, I think. My mother loved to attend services and performances at Westminster; her brother had been a chorister there when he was young. They had a Christmas concert each December, and we'd make a day of it: shopping at Harrods, and dinner in a fancy restaurant, and then the concert." She shoots a smile over at her husband, sitting on the bed and watching her intently, his task momentarily forgotten. "I was absolutely terrible during the concerts when I was young; too much sitting still. But the music, and being there with my family . . . that's what I miss."

She turns back to examine her reflection in the mirror, and, lost in thought as she is for a moment, she nearly misses Daniel coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her and tuck her head under his chin. "Well," he says, "I think, as a dual-nationality home, we can make room for English carols as well as Bing Crosby." He smiles at her in the mirror. "And that's what's great about creating our own family, right? We decide what traditions to borrow or create. And I think finding a good Christmas concert each year sounds like a pretty great one to start, if you want." One hand slides to rest on her stomach, and the barely-noticeable bump there. "Although next year this little one might not be too interested in sitting still during a concert either."

"We'll figure something out," she smiles. "We're both pretty clever, after all."

. . . . . .

_Gone away is the bluebird_  
_Here to stay is a new bird_  
_He sings a love song as we go along_  
_Walking in a winter wonderland_

The living room is transformed when Peggy goes out to make breakfast: their lonely Christmas tree, the only decoration they've had up all month, has been joined overnight by a veritable forest of pine: boughs on the mantle, wreaths in the windows. "When did all this happen?" she gasps.

Daniel shrugs, a little embarrassed, as he always is, to have been caught in a good deed. "Last night, when you were in the shower. I know we haven't had time to decorate much, but I remembered what you said about how your family used to go all out on Christmas decorations."

He doesn't have a chance to explain more because Peggy is kissing him, wondering for the thousandth time how she got so lucky and how she could ever repay her husband for his thousand kindnesses; his hands wrap around her waist, warm and reassuring, and the kiss is just progressing from a kiss of appreciation and affection to something a little more fervent when—

"Should I have stayed at a hotel?"

The Sousas jump apart with impressive alacrity, especially given that Daniel had put down his crutch to hold Peggy closer, and turn to see Frank Sousa standing in the doorway, grinning at them. Peggy blushes a little but it's nothing on how embarrassed Daniel looks; it's got to be awkward, she supposes, to have your dad walk in on you in a moment like that.

"Pai," he says weakly. "What? No, of course . . ."

"My Danny gets so shy," says Frank fondly to Peggy. "Did I ever tell you about that time with Tillie Boulter?"

"Who's Tillie Boulter?" Peggy laughs while Daniel blanches.

"I changed my mind," he says, picking up his crutch and beating a hasty retreat to the kitchen. "You should definitely have stayed at a hotel."

The other two watch him go, laughing, then Peggy turns to Frank. "So who's Tillie Boulter?"

Frank grins.

. . . . . .

_I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know_  
_Where the treetops glisten and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow_  
_I'm dreaming of a white Christmas with every Christmas card I write_  
_May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white_

"What are you doing in here?"

It isn't Peggy's intention to frighten her friend, but whatever the intention, Carolyn Boyd jumps about a foot in the air, then turns and gives Peggy a rueful stare. "Always sneaking up on people, aren't you Peg?"

"We're nearly ready for dessert."

"I'll be back in in a moment," Carolyn says. "I don't want to miss Mr. Sousa's famous egg tarts."

"Do call him Frank," Peggy urges. "He means it when he says he'd rather you did."

"Frank, then," Carolyn agrees, but makes no move to get up; instead she turns her gaze back out the front window, where it had been before Peggy's startling entrance.

Peggy stays put too. "What's on your mind?" she asks softly.

Carolyn looks up at her, and Peggy grins. "You know you're my only friend in Sycamore Hills, don't you? If there's anything I can do to help, I'd like to know."

"It's nothing," Carolyn laughs. "It's just . . . this is my first Christmas in California; John and I spent last year back with my parents in Ohio, so this year it's his parents' turn." She shakes her head. "They don't warn you about this part when they talk about growing up and getting married. They don't tell you that if you don't come from the same hometown, then every time Christmas or Thanksgiving rolls around, one or both of you is going to spend it missing your family. At least for the first few years, I guess." She sighs. "And it's worse when we all spent the last few Christmases away from our families off fighting the war."

Into Peggy's mind comes an image of her parents, gray with age, sitting at their nearly empty dining table: their son dead, their daughter settled permanently in America. The thought brings a prickle of unshed tears to her eyes, and she shakes her head to banish them. "I know what you mean," she admits lowly. "I haven't seen my parents since my wedding in April, and I don't know that I'll get over to England any time soon."

Carolyn's eyes are bright as well. "I was doing okay," she says, "until Bing came on the radio just now singing about white Christmases, and I looked out the window at those ridiculous palm trees, and—" She breaks off in a tear-choked laugh.

Peggy is silent a moment, then she smiles. "It hardly ever snows in London," she reminisces. "But my aunt and uncle lived farther north, and we'd go visit them for the week between Christmas and the New Year. My brother and I would get in the most dramatic snowball fights."

Carolyn laughs aloud. "When I was 12," she admits, "I hit my brother Andy in the face with snowball and gave him a black eye. I packed it too tightly, I guess. I've never felt so guilty about anything."

Peggy laughs too, and the two women trail off into silence, each looking out the window at the ridiculous palm trees and imagining snowier scenes than this.

Suddenly Carolyn laughs. "Look at the pair of us!" she exclaims. "I didn't mean to get so maudlin. You'll never have us over to lunch again if I carry on like this." She carefully wipes away the tear that has trickled down her face. "It'll get better in time, won't it?" she asks.

"It will," says Peggy firmly, then smiles. "We might even come to appreciate the palm trees."

John leans into the room, his habitual smile on his face. "The egg tarts are ready, ladies."

"On our way," Carolyn promises, and as her husband leaves, the sorrow in her face goes with him. "It'll get better," she says again to Peggy, "because I've got John, and you've got Daniel, and that's worth it. They're worth it."

Peggy blinks, surprised, and then she grins. "They are," she agrees. The friends return to the dining room, where their husbands and Frank are waiting to eat dessert.

"Come help me get more napkins," Peggy tells Daniel, pulling him into the kitchen, and when they're alone, she kisses him firmly.

"What was that for?" he asks. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I love you," she says. "More than I love snow."

He blinks a few times. "What were you and Carolyn talking about?" he asks suspiciously.

She laughs and takes his hand. "Come on," she says, grabbing the napkins with her free hand. "I've been looking forward to your father's egg tarts."

. . . . . .

_Strings of street lights, even stoplights, blinkin' bright red and green_  
_As the shoppers rush home with their treasures_  
_Hear the snow crunch, see the kids bunch, this is Santa's big day_  
_And above all this bustle you hear_  
_Silver bells . . ._

To say that Peggy Sousa has a complex relationship with the concept of the suburban shopping mall would be an understatement.

"Monuments to consumerism and excess," she would grumble to Daniel every time they drove past the building site for the Sycamore Hills Shopping Center. "How many possessions do we really need, that we need to build an entire small town dedicated to purchasing more?" Now that the mall is open, however, she's changed her tune; it's the nearest shopping to their home in Sycamore Hills, and as they both have full-time jobs—more than full-time, as often as not—they can't afford to be picky about where they shop. If, for example, Daniel's good dress shoes suddenly give out on a Saturday afternoon, then Peggy's choices are to drive a twenty minutes into LA or to stop by the shoe shop at the mall just a mile up the street . . . and, well, she chooses the mall more often than she would have believed possible.

So she only grumbles a little as she pulls their blue 1948 Packard into a spot under a sign with a picture of an elephant on it, and she only comments twice on how absurd it is for any place to have a parking lot large enough that they need a whole animal sign-based system so that people can remember where they parked. Daniel and Frank just laugh at her as they get out.

Frank doesn't have any Christmas shopping to complete, but he'd declared last night that going out sounded more interesting than sitting home alone, and also he's quite excited at the prospect of seeing the Sycamore Hills Shopping Center, the largest retail complex in the United States. That's one way he and Peggy differ: he's the sort to think of all development as progress, while she's the sort to think that at least half of all development is utter waste and excess.

"Shall we?" Daniel asks, offering Peggy his arm, and Peggy sees Frank shoot her a look.

_We had to park so far from the mall_ , that look is saying.  _Should Daniel be walking this far?_

She smiles warmly at Frank to reassure him that Daniel will be fine. She doesn't blame the man for worrying; she's worried about Daniel's leg more than once herself. It's a fine line to walk, between being considerate and being condescending, and Frank, sadly, has had to make do with a lot of phone calls and very few visits ever since Daniel returned from the war and especially since he moved out to LA for his promotion. It's not surprising he's unsure of Daniel's physical limitations.

Frank nods once and turns to lead the way to the mall; when a passing car momentarily separates him from his children, Daniel leans over to Peggy. "We had to park so far from the mall," he murmurs. "Should Pai be walking this far?"

Peggy bites back a smile. "He'll be fine," she reassures him, and chuckles at how similar the Sousa men are. She has thought, more than once, that if she wants to know what her husband will be like when they're old and gray, she only has to look at his father: they have the same coloring, same build, same expressions, and most of all the same loving hearts.

The Sycamore Hills Shopping Center is a sprawling complex of dozens of stores, all facing inward to a series of large, open-air walkways and courtyards. The large fountain in the center courtyard is bubbling away merrily as they pass it—thank the warm California weather for that—and the trees between the stores are strung with lights. Crisscrossing between all the different storefronts, creating a sort of canopy over the shoppers' heads, are fake pine garlands festooned with wreaths and bows. Frank Sinatra is crooning over the speakers, last-minute shoppers are bustling about with armfuls of bags: it's truly Christmas time in the suburbs.

They walk with Frank for a bit, letting him take in the sights of the mall—he's particularly fascinated by the spinning plane ride and the petting zoo in one of the courtyards—and he declares it a modern marvel. Then they have to leave him to sit and admire said modern marvel for a while, because he's one of the people they need to shop for.

"This is ridiculous," Daniel exclaims as they fight their way into JC Penney, which is inhabited by what seems to be a solid wall of shoppers. He's having a harder time of making his way through the crowds, as he's got to make room for his crutch, and Peggy instinctively takes on her usual role of blocker, knowing crowds will part for a lady more quickly than they will for a man. "Why in the world did we wait this long to get our shopping done?"

"We were called into an emergency defense council by the president to talk about the Communists ousting Chiang Kai-Shek from mainland China," she reminds him in a low voice, smiling politely at the perfume counter girl, and Daniel turns an amused look on her.

"Rhetorical question," he grumbles.

Between the two of them they manage to get their presents picked out quickly; they might not be the most thoughtful gifts in the world, but really it's a miracle that they got any purchased at all, as Daniel points out to Peggy. Really, though, it's just Frank and the Jarvises that they need to shop for; all the people whose presents had to be sent off, including Angie, Jack, and Daniel's sister and her family, were taken care of back in November with the help of Ana Jarvis, who's really much more enthusiastic about this sort of thing than Peggy is.

When they make their way back to Frank, he's staring in amazement at the child care center, where a passel of small children are clambering over the monkey bars and getting paint on each other's clothes. "You can make someone else watch your children while you shop?" he says in shock.

"I know, isn't it abominable?" says Peggy. "Imagining trusting your child to some stranger at a mall, of all places—"

"It's amazing!" exclaims Frank. "I wish we'd had a place like this around when you were a kid, Danny."

Daniel catches Peggy's eye, clearly trying not to laugh, and Peggy can't help smiling.

"You might change your tune when you have kids of your own," Frank says. "About a lot of things."

Peggy and Daniel only laugh, and Peggy's heart lifts as she imagines Frank's face tomorrow morning, when he receives the other part of his gift, something that can't be found in a shopping mall: a letter informing him that he'll have a new grandchild in the summer. She shifts her grip on her bag and smiles.

. . . . . .

_S_ _omeday soon we all will be together_  
_If the fates allow  
Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow  
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now_

Howard and the Jarvises have invited the three Sousas for dinner—partly, Peggy suspects, because Ana saw her panic over the thought of trying to cook a nice dinner for her father-in-law. The spread they produce is far better than anything the Sousas could have come up with, and Peggy suggests, quite earnestly, that they make this a yearly tradition.

"It's good of you, by the way, to do this for us," she tells Ana as she's helping her clear the dishes. "Especially given that you're . . ."

It occurs to her midsentence that maybe she's making things very awkward now, but Ana smiles. "Edwin already celebrated Hanukkah with me," she says. "I'm more than happy to celebrate Christmas with him."

Dinner is followed by an excellent chocolate cake, and then the group adjourns to the large sitting room to gather around a crackling fire (more for ambiance than warmth, given that the California winter is not exactly a difficult one to deal with) with glasses of wine. Ana, with a secret smile, disappears into another room, then reappears with a box of paper tubes that Peggy recognizes very well indeed.

"Christmas crackers!" she exclaims. "I haven't seen those since before the war! Where on earth did you get them on this side of the pond?"

"We have our ways," Ana smiles, quite pleased with herself. "Edwin was very excited when he found them, and we thought you might appreciate them as well. I understand they're more of a Christmas Day tradition? But since we won't see you tomorrow, we thought we'd better do them today."

Peggy is only too pleased to agree, and soon the whole group are pulling apart the crackers, laughing at the trinkets inside and donning the paper crowns, even Howard, which is a sight that brings Peggy no end of amusement.

She's laughing, until she looks around the room at her loved ones wearing these familiar crowns, like so many Christmases in her past, and in an instant her laughter gives way to the sting of tears behind her eyelids.

Ana notices, of course, and is all concern. "Peggy darling, what is it?"

Beside Peggy, Daniel tightens his grip on her hand and leans in closer; the warmth of his arm is comforting and she unconsciously moves closer to him.

"Oh dear, I've been an absolute watering pot today," she laughs wetly, wiping away the tear that's managed to escape her eyes. It's the pregnancy hormones, most likely, is what she thinks but does not say; they're not planning on telling the Jarvises and Howard for a few more weeks yet. "Do excuse me."

The tears being a result of the pregnancy has occured to Daniel, she can see in the concerned way he looks at her, but she shakes her head. "It's not really anything. It's just seeing you all like this . . ." She looks up at the ceiling, fighting back a fresh wave of tears, but when she speaks again she's wrestled herself back under control. "It simply reminded me of my brother Michael. We—we lost him in the war. He loved Christmas more than anything; he'd plan the most wonderful and thoughtful gifts, and he'd talk us into re-enacting the Nativity every year, and he always, always insisted on the whole family doing Christmas crackers." She hesitates, then laughs again. "One year I announced that the crowns were silly and I wasn't going to wear mine, and he, loving brother that he was, sat on my back until I agreed to put it on."

The others laugh, and after a moment, Jarvis ventures, his expression reminiscent, "My mother was the one who always insisted on all the Christmas traditions. After we'd had Christmas dinner and done our crackers, she'd read Dickens' _Christmas Carol_  to us, the entire thing, beginning to end." He hesitates, then admits, "I haven't been able to read it since she died." Ana reaches over and covers his hand with hers, and he shoots her a grateful smile.

"It was 'The Night Before Christmas' in our house," says Howard unexpectedly, staring broodingly at the fire. "The old man would make us sit and listen to it every Christmas Eve. When he was sober enough." He shakes his head. "I never saw eye to eye with him, but sometimes I wish he was here to make me sit through it again." He looks up at Daniel. "Since we're making this a thing now, I guess, what about you?"

Daniel smiles. "I always think about food, not literature, when I think about Christmas. Says something about the Sousa family, I guess." His father laughs. "Mãe was the most amazing cook," he goes on, "and my favorite meal of the year was Ceia de Natal; after we got home from Midnight Mass, we'd have this enormous meal, all recipes she brought over from Portugal, more sweets than we could eat . . ." His face falls a little. "After she died, my sister Amalia tried to keep up the tradition, but then I got shipped off to Europe and she was married by the time I got back. I haven't had a good Portuguese Ceia de Natal in a long time." Peggy turns to press a kiss to his shoulder, and he rubs the back of her hand with his thumb.

"No one could cook like my Sofia," agrees Frank, his eyes misty.

"We were all about food in my family as well," says Ana, with a distant smile. "My mother would make me and my sister help her make cheese latkes every year. I could never sit still long enough to it very well, but Judit loved it. Cooking was her talent, and her passion." She lifts a handkerchief delicately to her eyes. "I think that's why I decided to learn to cook after I married Edwin," she says. "Not to feed him—I'm sorry, my darling, but it's true—but to honor Judit's memory, and my mother's. I was determined that the Kőnig women's cooking secrets would live on."

That only serves to remind Peggy that Ana will never bear children of her own, because she got dragged into the Whitney Frost case, and the tears that she thought she'd had under control spring up again. "I'm sorry," she says. "I've rather put a damper on the mood of this party, haven't I? I need to remember that death isn't really an appropriate Christmas party topic."

"Don't apologize," says Ana. "It's good to remember. That's how we keep our loved ones alive in our hearts."

"And all due respect, Mrs. Sousa, but I disagree." That's Jarvis speaking up, more than usually dignified, somehow. "Christmas is the perfect time to remember family, and all the good times we've had together, and to reflect on our hope of someday seeing them again."

Howard raises his glass. "To loved ones, far and near," he says, "and to those we've lost."

The others follow suit. "Cheers."

. . . . . .

_Adeste fideles laeti triumphantes_  
_Venite, venite in Bethlehem_  
_Natum videte regem angelorum_  
_Venite adoremus, venite adoremus,_  
_venite adoremus, Dominum_

Old Mrs. Henderson always claimed that learning Latin would come in handy one of these days, but it took fifteen years and marrying a Catholic man for that to come true for Peggy. How it came in handy: she knows how to pronounce the words to this hymn. Mrs. Henderson would be so pleased, although she certainly wouldn't have expected that Peggy's appreciation for the language would come about because she's become borderline Catholic herself.

Not for the first time, Daniel glances over at her, searching her face to see if she's enjoying Mass, and she smiles warmly to reassure him that she is. He was just the same way on Easter, and at Midnight Mass last year back in Frank's home parish before they were married, and the few times she's attended Mass with him over the last year, and she finds herself smiling at the memories. And she squeezes Daniel's hand to tell him she's genuinely happy to be here.

Because she doesn't mind coming to Mass, truly. Daniel's Catholic through and through—a former altar boy, even—and although with their jobs he doesn't get to services as often as he'd like, he goes when he can. Peggy's a lapsed Anglican herself—not because she stopped believing, but because other things got in the way—and Catholic Mass is similar in a lot of ways to what she grew up with, and she likes the comfort and familiarity of it, and she likes getting back into the habit of observing holy days, and she likes participating in the things that are important to her husband.

Besides, Frank wouldn't miss Midnight Mass for the world. He's singing his heart out on Daniel's other side, squeezing Daniel's other hand, his eyes fixed on the altar with something warm and fervent in his gaze. The sight of father and son's joined hands hits Peggy down deep, and she thinks, not for the first time, that she and Daniel should convince Frank to move out to California with them, especially now that Amalia's family is living in Chicago. He might not want to leave his friends, his neighborhood, his church. But, Peggy thinks, looking at the way he's clasping his son's hand, he might. Especially with the baby coming.

The choir takes over singing now, and they're no Westminster but they're not half bad, either. Maybe this will be where she and Daniel attend their Christmas concert together next year. Maybe work will try to interfere, as it did this month, but maybe they'll insist on making it happen. If there's anything she's learned in the four years since the war, it's that your work, your duty, they'll take up all your time and attention if you'll let them. But there are other things that are important too, other things that matter to Peggy: eating a meal with her friends; reading a book in that lovely patch of sunlight in the living room; enjoying the sounds of a choir singing at Midnight Mass; Frank turning a beaming smile on his daughter-in-law; the feeling of Daniel's hand in hers. Those things are worth making time for.

. . . . . .

_Silent night, holy night_  
_All is calm, all is bright_  
_Round yon Virgin Mother and Child_  
_Holy Infant so tender and mild_  
_Sleep in heavenly peace_  
_Sleep in heavenly peace_

Frank falls asleep in the backseat on the car ride home; it's only twenty minutes from the church to their home on Magnolia Lane, but he had a long day yesterday with all the traveling, and it's after midnight now, the service having started at eleven—late enough that Peggy doesn't have much hope when she tries the radio. But fortune smiles on her: there's a station broadcasting late, and Bing Crosby's voice fills the dark, quiet car.

Daniel seems as content as she is to ride in silence and listen to the music; she's always loved that about being with him, that they're comfortable enough with each other that they don't feel the need to speak to fill the silence. So he says nothing, and she says nothing, thinking instead about the day they've had, and the day they will have tomorrow: opening presents, and giving Frank the news, and calling her parents . . . it sounds like a perfect day.

And today was a perfect day as well, wasn't it? Friends and family, laughter and tears: Christmas usually has some of all of these, she feels, and that's the way it should be.

The roads are empty, occupied only by the streetlights and the storefronts waiting quietly for the day. Peggy turns to look at her husband in the driver's seat, admiring the way the golden lamplight they're driving through flashes across his face. His right hand rests on the gear shift, tempting Peggy to clasp it in her own hand; Frank worries when they do that, as he thinks it distracts the driver, but then Frank is asleep and will never know.

It's Christmas day now, she supposes, as it's after midnight; she thinks about wishing Daniel a happy Christmas, but speaking would shatter the enchantment laying over the car, so she stays silent, and lets Bing's voice pull her deeper under its spell. She's never seen their town so still and silent, and she watches it go by in something like wonder. The night is dark and boundless; memories of Christmases past nestle in the shadows around her. Somewhere out there in the vast stillness, a Child is born. Peggy puts one hand on her stomach, on the rounded bump that is their own little miracle. With her other one, she reaches out and takes Daniel's hand.

_Sleep in heavenly peace_.

. . . . . .

fin

. . . . . .

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
> Al Bowlly: A South African/British jazz crooner of the 1930s, popular in the US and Britain; one article I found called him Britain's equivalent of Bing Crosby, although if you listen to recordings of him, he has a very different vocal style from Bing. He was tragically killed by a Luftwaffe parachute mine in 1941.
> 
> Westminster Abbey choir: A confession: I couldn't find enough history on the choir to learn definitively if they were doing Christmas performances in the 1930s, but it seems quite possible, since they do them now.
> 
> Silver Bells: was actually first released in 1950, while this story is set in 1949, but it fit so perfectly that I put it in anyway. I'm sorry. But not that sorry.
> 
> Shopping mall: Though the concept of a shopping center dates back to Roman times, the suburban shopping mall as we know it is, like so much of modern American life, a post-war invention, developing alongside the suburbs as more and more Americans moved out of the city in pursuit of a house with a yard. The Lakewood Mall—those of you who read Magnolia Lane might remember that the fictional planned community of Sycamore Hills is based on the real Lakewood, California—opened in 1951 and was (and still is) one of the largest in America. All these early malls were open air; the enclosed mall we know and love today wouldn't appear until the mid-1950s.
> 
> Chiang Kai-Shek: The Chinese Civil War lasted from 1927 to 1949, with a brief pause to deal with the invading Japanese; it consisted of the struggle between the Nationalist Kuomintang party, led by Chiang Kai-Shek, and the Communist Party of China, led by Mao Zedong, for control of China. The Communists eventually gained the upper hand, with the support of the peasantry and a bit of aid from the Soviet Union; in December of 1949 the Kuomintang retreated to Taiwan. The war never officially ended, which has a lot to do with the very complicated state of affairs between Taiwan and China now.
> 
> Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas: The words given here are the originals, as performed in the movie Meet Me In St. Louis. When Frank Sinatra recorded his 1957 album A Jolly Christmas, he asked the writer, Hugh Martin, to "jolly up" some of the lyrics for him. The most major change is the "muddle through" line became "Hang a shining star upon the highest bow." Frankie's version caught on, and the majority of singers now do it his way. (Yes, that's a Frank Sinatra joke.)
> 
> Christmas crackers: A popular Christmas tradition in the UK since the 19th century (and in my family since my Britain-loving mother discovered them in 2010). A cracker is made of paper or cardboard in the shape of a large wrapped sweet; when both ends are pulled on, it pops open, quite literally—the popping sound is made by a strip of chemically impregnated paper inside. In the cracker are usually a small trinket or toy, a joke, and a tissue paper crown which you then, obviously, have to wear.


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